Snaring The Dragon
by Kilonji
Summary: What good is having what you desire most within your grasp when you will not reach for it? Follow-up to Giving up and Moving On.
1. The Arrival

**A/N:** In case it wasn't shamefully obvious already, I'm all about the indulgence. I indulge you, I indulge myself. I'm a bad girl.

* * *

In the split second in which her eyesight blurred and she felt the excruciating "pop" in her head, Hakumei (formerly Arisawa) Tatsuki knew she was about to die. She was old, all of ninety-two years, but she had never been given to the fatalistic "when I'm dead soon" state of mind her mother had been in at the time of her death. Instead, she was often brushing off the desperate entreaties of her children to come and spend whatever time she had left with them. She disliked the idea of being an old grandma who could no longer fend for herself. So she had remained, alone, in the house where she lived with her husband from their third year of marriage up until his death twenty years ago. 

As she crumpled to the ground, the thought absently that this was hardly the dramatic end she feared. In her dreams she would be inside and fall in a graceful, slow-motion arc to the floor, breathe distractedly one or two times before succumbing to death. Her body would be found, complete with a decidedly un-artistic aroma, within two or three days by her well-meaning but occasionally negligent daughter-in-law who lived close by. Then there would be much screaming and rending of flesh—this from the daughter-in-law—and a resigned sigh from each of her sons. She had raised her boys not to be dramatic. They understood she would have to go eventually and the mode was insignificant.

But no. She blinked, taking a deep breath and knowing without trying that she could not move on her left side. A would-be Vale Tudo champion felled by a stroke. And just outside her door. She could hear the yells of panic and feel the neighbor girl crouching close over her, calling her name. Tatsuki could not respond, and instead settled for being carefully turned and facing up at the panicking girl. She was thinking of a feeble attempt at comforting the poor thing when things went dark.

And light again. The shinigami was already there. He was young and fresh looking, complete with a ridiculous lightning bolt looking tattoo just above his right eye. "Arisawa Tatsuki-dono?"

Tatsuki twitched, ignoring the feel of the pavement beneath her feet. "Hakumei Tatsuki, yes."

The boy ignored this. "Arisawa-san, my name is Richiki. I have been sent to retrieve you."

"I know," she said. "I'm ready."

He nodded at her, withdrew his sword, and gently tapped her forehead with the hilt.

The transfer was instantaneous. The view shimmered and popped; she was suddenly face-to-face with a tall, slender woman with glasses and jetty hair tied back in a tight, austere bun. She clutched an insanely large book at her chest, but the hakama marked her as another Shinigami. "Arisawa Tatsuki-san?" She adjusted her spectacles with slender white fingers.

"Hakumei Tatsuki," Tatsuki said. Did everyone here go by their birth names?

"My name is Ise Nanao. I am the vice captain of the eighth division of the thirteen court squads and I have come to assist you. Could you follow me, please?" She turned without waiting for an answer. Tatsuki paused, glancing around herself. It was a simple white room, no furniture, no adornment, no windows. If she followed the prim woman, most likely she would be shown to a place where she could sit. As she stepped out of the room and into the hallway, her stomach rumbled. Maybe she could get something to eat, too. . .

Ise-san had stopped and turned. "Arisawa-san?"

Tatsuki opened her mouth to correct her, hurrying her step, but the look of the woman reeked of the concept that she disliked being contradicted. "I'm coming," she said, catching up to her. She dug deep in her mind for the information she possessed on the raking of Shinigami. "You're a vice-captain. Do vice-captains usually greet people? There must be thousands of people arriving here a day, and if there are only thirteen of you. . ."

"Your arrival is a special circumstance. Kurosaki Ichigo-taichou and Kuchiki Rukia-taichou are both familiar with you. They did not wish you to be deposited into Rukongai like the others."

"Rukongai?"

"It is the place where souls gather when they first arrive. But since you may be in possession of a fair amount of spirit energy, there were concerns for your safety there."

"Ichigo was worried about my safety." Tatsuki had not thought of him in forty years, since long after he abandoned his human life. She had supposed he'd forgotten all about her. But of all the things he'd remember, couldn't the fact that she was used to taking care of herself be the one? She hated when people assumed she was helpless, even as an old lady. She paused. But she did not feel like an old lady. She examined her hands. The wrinkles were gone, and when she curled her fingers they did not crack as usual. She frowned. "Ise-san?"

Ise looked at her.

"How old am I now?"

Ise tilted her head. "That's normal for one with spirit energy, Arisawa-san. How old were you?"

"Ninety-two."

"I'll show you a mirror when we get to the examination room. You don't look a day over twenty. But for now," she said with a smirk, "there are people who wish to say hello."

Tatsuki barely had enough time to let this information process with Ise-san made a sharp turn into an open room. Kurosaki Ichigo, in all his glory, pounced.

"It's about time, dammit," he said, cuffing her head. He barely looked twenty himself. "I was beginning to think you never wanted to see me again."

"Well, another ten years wouldn't have killed you," Tatsuki shot back. Things has not really changed at all. Neither of them were dead. They were just a few years older and still giant kids at heart.

Rukia pushed Ichigo out of the way. "He's been talking about this all day, you know. He said Asano wasn't fitting company and he'd like to have his ass kicked by you again. It's good to see you, Tatsuki-chan."

Tatsuki smiled. "It's weird, Rukia-chan. It's been years since anyone has called me that."

Rukia's smile was warm. "Get used to it. Orihime wants you to remember yourself again, and since she won't be here for another few years, I told her I'd fill in."

"We all told her." The voice came from the door. Rukia and Ichigo both smiled, albeit somewhat darkly. Tatsuki turned to face the new addition.

The red hair. The tattoos. The determined scowl twisted somehow into a welcoming grin. She remembered him, alright. Rukia's friend. "Abarai Renji," Tatsuki said. He'd been nice enough to her, but she could not recall them ever talking at length. Mostly he made her feel uncomfortable. He was always too close, and always staring with weird, inexplicable expression. And here he was again, as friendly as ever but nowhere near as unsettling as she remembered. Perhaps people just liked to be friendly around here. But he stepped forward, took her hands. She would have pulled away—what a goddamn personal space invader!—but his grip was solid.

And his eyes were soft and brown. "Welcome to Sereitei, Hakumei Tatsuki-san."

For the first time in sixty years, she wished her name was still Arisawa. She almost snatched her hands away at that point; the guilt was too sharp to bear. _Now_ she remembered. Abarai Renji was a creep.


	2. Man On Fire

The exchange of pleasantries being over and done with, Nanao decided she was tired of waiting and hauled Tatsuki off for her diagnostic. Renji was not sorry to see her go.

Fifteen minutes and he'd already completely creeped her out. He knew it just by the way she recoiled when he took her hands. He hasn't meant to unnerve her. It always looked so suave when Kyouraku-taichou did it.

Apparently what was charming in the hands of Shunsui was chester-molesterish in the hands of Renji.

Which, of course, the other two immediately felt they needed to point out. Ichigo scratched his head. "You were _way_ too friendly."

"Honestly," Rukia said, crossing her arms, "What the hell was that?"

Renji could not defend himself. It was pointless, anyway. Everyone already knew. He could, however, point out that the etiquette police had fucked up, too. "Tatsuki-_chan_?" Rukia had never uttered such words in her life and she knew it. "And Kurosaki, you haven't given half a damn about her in _years_."

"Oh, as opposed to _stalking_ her?" Rukia said it because she knew he'd never punch her. But her hard words made Renji visibly cringe; she immediately—guiltily—backtracked. "Okay, I felt weird calling her that and I probably won't do it again." She was blushing a little. "But what do we say? She disappeared on us. It's kinda bad for us to act like everything is the same."

Renji had already heard enough. He was ready to head back to the sixth and bury himself in his work. Again. He sighed as he moved toward the exit. "She didn't disappear. We let her slip away."

_He_ let her slip away. His intentions, from the beginning—the end of their short time together—were to watch over her. But it took four months before he gathered the nerve to return and start to carry out his plans. He kept in contact with Rukia, of course, who stayed friendly with the Ishidas, who became the only source of information about the girl Renji left behind. She was doing well, all things considered. Never once was there a comment about chunks of her recent memory being carved away like pieces of a spiral ham. She was not lonely, she was not sad. She was herself, doing what she did. She attended classes at the University with Mizuiro and Keigo. She taught kids at the dojo. She worked at the convenience store. She was just fine without him. He knew this for sure within a year. Of that year, he had spent nearly an hour every night watching, shadowing, tailing. She still slept on her back with her wrist slung across her stomach. She liked to meditate in the pale morning sun, legs crossed, head slightly tilted toward the door so she could still pick up any activity on the other side—usually Orihime, come to bring the first born of the future Ishida brood to see her Auntie. Tatsuki would swing the toddler around and play airplane with her while Orihime watched with glee.

Renji took no comfort in the fact that she did not remember enough of him to miss him, hurt for him. He was too busy doing it for the both of them. Which was why he stopped watching the day she married Hakumei Mokoto. He never spoke of it, not even to Rukia, but Renji watched the entire courtship play out, feeling his heart rot away a little more with every kiss he observed, every smile she gave to that man who was not him. For a full ten years after she took the name Hakumei, he could not bear the thought of her. Particularly since the tattoo on his wrist would twitch like an angry nerve when he did. The day they married was still a black spot in his head. It would have been easier to hate her but he knew he had no right. This was how he became so well known—better than he was before, at least—in the taverns and bars of Rukongai. He didn't draw a sober breath after midnight for over five years, and spent another six or seven tumbling every stray girl that was willing. Not that either of these activities were enough to make Arisawa a distant memory for him. It was a decade before he crawled out of his nightly bottle and settled back into the life of a normal vice captain. Another year and he began, almost on queue, to wonder when he rubbed the name in hiragana on his wrist. By then the twitch was a tingle, and it almost tickled him when he remembered her face. What was she doing? Was she happy?

It was a good thing that she was with her boys when he found her again. She was far from Karakura, in an open plain of a park. She paced calmly as her boys tore into each other. Three of them, stair-stepped in age, all wide-eyed and feral, just like their mother. They sparred the same way she did; one would fall, shake himself, and be back up in an instant, ready to deliver swift retribution. They moved exactly like her. The smile she gave them was like no smile Renji had ever seen on her. It was then that it hit him. This was a joy he could not have given her. Hakumei Mokoto was the father of the children she cherished. Despite himself, Renji smiled at this. At Arisawa—Hakumei—and her boys. She was happy. And he was happy for her. The tattoo on his wrist was still; it clearly agreed with his assessment.

But he was sadder for himself. What chance was there for him after this? None, he thought. Like Rukia before her, Tatsuki found love and flourished in it. Only one thing was different. Rukia never completely let him go. But Hakumei Tatsuki would never lay hands on him again. He had the rest of her life to adjust to this notion. It was okay. He needed only to get used to her as she was now. They could still be friends, right? She'd come around, eventually.

It was six months after her arrival before he saw her again. Her assessment was acceptable; her place at the academy was secure and she seemed to enjoy being in school again. This he learned from Ichigo, whom Hakumei was also keeping at arm's length. "She says she doesn't want to be treated differently because of who she knows," Kurosaki shrugged, disappointed. Renji understood this to mean that he was expected to keep his distance as well.

But the day the Sixth squad captain and vice captain came to observe a random kidou class at the advanced level, Renji was shocked and pleased to find her among her peers, mouthing the incantations with an intense look on her face. Until she glanced up and caught his eye.

He must have blushed. Her eyes narrowed and she pointedly looked away.

Byakuya, who had silently observed the exchange, coughed a little. "What was it you told me about your would-be paramour? She would come around?"

"It's not what you think," Renji whispered back. He had not once, even to Rukia, stated or implied that he wanted to hook up with Hakumei again. He was _hoping_ that he didn't, anyway.

But he had served under Kuchiki Byakuya for too long. No one knew the story as well as his Captain, and Byakuya seemed to enjoy twisting the knife whenever the opportunity arose. "I can smell that tattoo burning," came the response.

Renji blinked, examined his wrist. The sepia was now turning a deep burnt orange. And it was beginning to sting. He looked over at Hakumei again, who was ignoring him while the other students tried and failed to practice, excited by the visit of future superior officers. She obviously needed more time.

Urahara, clearly, had decided she'd had plenty. Renji rubbed his wrist. He needed to see shopkeeper. Soon. On the way out, Renji excused himself. His captain raised an eyebrow. "You might want to see if he can do something about the stench," Byakuya mused. "I dislike the idea of my compound reeking of charred redhead."


	3. Renji Wreckers and Other Menaces

"Boss, we have a problem."

That was understating it, in Renji's opinion, but he was too tired, too sore to argue. Tessai took one look at the shinigami at the door and damn near launched himself over the counter to examine his wrist. Apparently, Byakuya wasn't exaggerating about the charred redhead thing.

"Oh no," yawned Urahara, scratching the small of his back as he wandered over. "I doubt it's as much of a problem as it is an inconvenience. Much like an alarm clock without a snooze button, eh, Freeloader-kun?" Even half asleep the old man was horrible.

Renji rolled his eyes. "Can you fix it?"

"Do you want me to remove it?"

"Arisawa's—Hakumei's memories. They'll go back to her." Renji felt his throat go dry.

Urahara tilted his head. "That was the intention. I did not expect you to wish to hold onto them beyond the mortal span of her life. Why aren't you all gooey with her right now? Isn't that what you've wanted?"

"Yes. No, that's what I used to want, but it's not like that anymore. Things are different now." Perhaps coming here was not such a good idea. He didn't mind the burning so much, and the right amount of cologne would cover up the smell. . .

Urahara shook his head. "You know, I could tell you if you kept pussyfooting around this, you'd lose your arm. You'd have no choice but to believe me and this could be resolved."

Renji gaped at him.

"If I'd known you would act like this, I certainly would have arranged it. Perhaps I overestimated your affections for young Arisawa."

"Hakumei," Renji corrected.

Urahara frowned, then did what Renji least expected him to do: He smacked him. Hard. He barely had the time to recoil before the shopkeeper was in his face, gray eyes cold. "Is Hakumei a different person?"

"She is another man's wife and the mother of his children."

Urahara smacked him again. "Think harder, Abarai."

Hakumei was hard, haughty, and stubborn. But then, so was Arisawa. "No," Renji said, swallowing. "Arisawa became Hakumei. She's the same, but she's. . . older."

"More mature, you mean? She is another man's widow. That man is not in Sereitei, is he? Are her children in Rukongai? Are they even children? And even if they were, what of it? A marriage promise is until death only, when I last checked. And adults should not cling to their mothers in such a way. Are you absolutely sure the love she had for him is stronger than the love she had for you? Could have for you? Will you not even _try_ to discern this before you give up?" The exasperation in Urahara's voice was just barely seeping through. "I was trying to do you a favor. Stop_ wasting_ it."

"Wait a minute! How is it that you get to tell me _anything_? You put a _time bomb_ in my wrist and never told me!"

"Did you forget who you were dealing with, Abarai? I did it for Arisawa just as much as I did it for you. It was my good deed. And you're wrecking it." Urahara shook his head. "Tessai, give him some balm for that wrist. Abarai, get out of here. You give that woman back what you owe to her, before it's too late. And by too late, I mean before she meets someone else and wouldn't _care_ even if she did get her memories back, do you understand me?" The gray eyes were deadly serious. "It will happen, Abarai. And if it does, your wrist _will_ burn for eternity, along with your heart. I can't help you much more than that, so get the hell out."

Shocked, Renji could only turn and make a quiet exit.

"Boss, you were too hard on the kid," Tessai said.

"Maybe," Urahara said. "But if it plays out like this, it means I made a mistake in helping him. Can't have that."

* * *

Renji's reaction to Urahara's command was to dither.

And procrastinate.

And mope.

Byakuya was aware but did not comment. He had finally become bored with needling his vice-captain, who lacked the will to fight back. Rukia noticed but was too wary to speak of it. She knew, just _knew_, that somehow Renji would turn it around and blame her for it. (While that assumption was the furthest thing from the truth, the hard fact of it was that Renji would indulge her with it if he thought that was what she wanted, so it _might as well_ have been true.) Ichigo heard about it from Ikkaku, who got all of his information from Yumichika, whose ability to detect the lovelorn was preternatural. While all three found it sad, they also found it amusing and their entertainment generally outweighed any feelings of sympathy or desire to give aid to an apparently drowning friend.

With no one to impede him or offer any advice he was willing to listen to, Renji simply crawled back into the bottle he had vacated more than half a century ago. He also began to wear gloves.

This is how the legend of the Renji Wrecker was resurrected. All of Sereitei knew Abarai's heart had been broken, ripped out, and stomped on by a woman. Some of them even pretended to know the particulars. The women all sighed for him; the men would shake their heads knowingly.

The woman in question was not only anonymous, but oblivious. She only knew that Abarai was a terrible drunk who somehow managed to function in his creepy, personal space invader way. The only thing that kept her from being completely repulsed by him was the air of pain and desperation he gave off in the brief time she spent in his company. So when she heard the inflated story of the Renji Wrecker from a couple of her classmates, she was interested despite herself. "So she just left him? Just like that, after he saved her live and pledged his undying love to her? And for his _best friend_?" Natsumi, a small girl with hair in two messy braids, squealed. "How awful."

"That's not the end of it." Jun, almost a foot taller and a shade more tan, said smugly, crossing her arms. "He swore from that day on he would cherish the smell of her on his hands, and he's worn gloves _ever since_. Now _that's_ love." Both of them then sighed in fangirl reverence.

Tatsuki had never heard a bigger crock of shit in her life. But upon further consideration she remembered that every lie, no matter how it had snowballed, held an element of the truth. So. Abarai was pining for some woman. Possibly one who had fled due to his habit of hovering. That wouldn't surprise her one bit. . .She shook her head. They were working, and this kind of speculation was meant for prepubescent slumber parties, not training circuits. "Girls," she said, trying to be stern, "this is all just enthralling but we really need to get this paperwork sorted."

Both girls gazed at her, half in admiration, half in annoyance. "Hakumei-san just isn't the romantic type, is she," Jun sighed.

"And proud of it, but that's not the point. We stay until this is done, and I'm not interested in being here all night," Tatsuki said calmly. "Besides, if we do well here, the captain might come by to compliment us."

That was enough to quiet her peers and set them to work. As much as they mooned over the tragic vice-captain of the sixth squad, they outright fawned over the captain of the ninth. And with good reason. Hisagi Shuuhei was a _man_. And he was familiar with most of the students at the academy, which made him even more loved.

One of the new features of the Shinigami Academy was the training circuit. This was something born out of necessity, as the Thirteen Squads had suffered heavy losses during the war and were still struggling to refill their ranks. At which point the Eighth division captain suggested that students be allowed to test out and train as interns with different squads. This would alleviate the work shortage and also give students and teachers a means to assess both interest and skill. It worked famously, and Hisagi Shuuhei was among the first captains to embrace the process. So invested was he in its success that once a week he spent an afternoon sharing his knowledge of barriers to the kidou classes and overseeing sparring sessions. It was at one of these sparring lessons that he witnessed a fairly large guy being tossed onto his ass by a pissed-off Tatsuki.

She had already forgotten the insult that caused her to lunge and attack. The guy was so shocked by her reaction that he barely managed to guard for the ten seconds before she grabbed his arm and pulled him over her shoulder with all the force in her. As he lay there stunned, she stared down at him and scowled. The rest of the room applauded. Hisagi-taichou calmed them down, clapped Tatsukis's back. "That was impressive, Hakumei," he said, not smiling but tilting his head. "Where have you been hiding that?"

She could only blink at him, then blushed. It had been years since her hoyden days as a vale tudo champion and she worked hard not to stick her head out. When she started at the academy word circulated that she was familiar with at least two captains and the attention she received was unpleasant to her. She did not want anyone telling her she was there based solely on who she knew, so she remained silent. Eventually her classmates forgot and she went about her business as planned. But this—she had to cover for herself. "He just made me mad, sensei," she said. "That's all."

Hisagi still did not smile. In fact, he was no longer impressed. "Hakumei, letting your emotions get the best of you in a fight is the worst thing you could do. Please work on your temper."

Tatsuki knew this already. She just said the first thing that had come to mind, and now the rest of the class was staring at her. She mumbled a "hai," and meekly stepped back into her spot.

Two classes later, she allowed that same guy to throw her. Again, Hisagi-taichou was unimpressed, but he waited until class was over to point it out. He caught up with her as she left the locker room. "Hakumei, walk with me, will you?"

She had been the first out. The others would be coming. She hesitated. "Pardon me, sensei, but I'm not sure I want anyone to see me talking to you outside of class."

"Let them think what they want, Hakumei. You're not the sort to be taken down by talk," he replied.

She bowed his head and stepped to his side as he strode towards the door. They were outside before he spoke again. "You've been holding back. Why?"

"I've been working on my temper," she said, trying to keep the bite out of her voice.

Apparently she failed. "Doesn't sound like it," Hisagi said. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you then, but it needed to be said. You can't rely on your strength coming from emotions during an actual fight. You have to keep your head. But I suspect you know that already. So why are you pretending to be less of a fighter than you actually are?"

"I was trying to avoid unwanted attention," she admitted.

"So you know the Kurosakis. So what? They didn't give you your talents. You already had them."

"You don't understand. I fail, they say I don't belong. I succeed too well, they say someone made it happen for me. I'm tired of it."

"So you're pretending to be average." Hisagi was staring forward, eyes narrow. What was he thinking?

"Hakumei-kun, if you're unhappy with the way things are, why are you at the academy?"

She paused, stared at him. Had she given any sign that she was dissatisfied?

"You said you were tired of it. So change it, Hakumei. Leave, or stay. But stop holding back. Be who you are." And then he left her.

Tatsuki shook her head. He did understand, even if only a little. She had felt restricted in hiding. It bothered her that she knew she easily had most of her classmates beaten when it came to hand-to-hand, but she was afraid to show it. But what had that gotten her? Nowhere, really.

After that, things were different. She excelled where she could, worked hard where she could not. And when the training circuit came up for her, she embraced it with all her energy. The tour at the ninth was her second circuit. She disliked being teamed up with other women, but she was making do. They seemed to turn to her like a mother at times, and that was something she somewhat liked. Here at the ninth the work had been tedious but it was good to be out of the classroom.

And then, there was Hisagi-taichou. As if he'd been eavesdropping, he stepped into the storeroom with a calm look on his face. "You ladies have done some good work here. You're free to go for the day."

Jun and Natsumi vacated the room with alarming speed—preceded, of course, by bows and fangirl style grinning. Tatsuki set her last stack in order. "They're going to squeal all the way back to the dorms, you know," she said.

"Let them. They're young, let them enjoy themselves." He crossed his arms. "But _you_, on the other hand. . ."

"I start at the eleventh next week." She moved toward the exit and into the hallway. He followed her, the surprise on his face just as delicious to her as his words of encouragement probably were to those girls.

"It hasn't been a full month yet, Hakumei."

"I know. So sign me out, will you?"

He tilted his head. "I know you're ready for it. But I'll miss having you around." They were outside now; the sun was sinking rapidly. Tatsuki's stomach was growling.

She smiled at him. "You said yourself I was best suited for combat. I shouldn't stay here any longer than I need to, and moving me out sooner means you'll get a replacement right away. Unless,"she said as her smile became wicked, "you'll miss more than my outstanding office skills."

Hisagi frowned. "Hakumei. That's quite a presumption."

"I know, but I never get a chance to play like this with everyone else," she said. "I'm quite considerate of your position, you know."

"As I am of yours." He shook his head. "Fine. I'll sign you out. But you need to be present in kidou class every day I'm there, without fail."

"I've never skipped a class."

"People pick up bad habits in the eleventh division," Hisagi said. "I don't want you ruined."

"Hai, taichou," Tatsuki nodded. "I'll be there. Shake on it?"

And they shook hands. Tatsuki would have noticed the slight blush the contact caused to bloom in her mentor's cheeks if she hadn't caught the hint of red in the corner of her eye. Where Abarai Renji had come from, she had no idea. All she knew was that he looked like someone had hit him hard in the stomach as he staggered down the street toward the sixth division compound.

Absently, Tatsuki considered running up to the poor wrecked Renji and giving him a hug. He obviously needed it. But then she shook herself. It had nothing to do with her, anyway.


	4. Hakumei's Night Out

From the moment she stepped foot into the eleventh division compound, Tatsuki felt odd. Not uncomfortable by any means—in high school she had been one of only two girls that even bothered to join the karate club, and the other had quickly dropped out. Sure, she managed to pass all the knowledge she gained onto Orihime, but in this interest, she was pretty much alone—though surrounded by men. So to look at the mostly ugly and often battered faces of the eleventh division as their eyes followed her foreignly feminine movement through the compound did not bother her at all. In fact, they were generally very courteous. _Too_ courteous, given their image.

Sure, there was that one unnamed jerk who attempted to make an example of her when she was finally allowed to spar. She took the hits graciously to start with, but as his blows became harder, she found herself backing away. At which point Madarame, who was overseeing this round, roared at her. "You have a reputation to upkeep, Hakumei, and if you lose here you're done. _The eleventh does not hold back_!"

_Reputation? _Her arms crossed above her head to deflect a smelly foot aimed at her nose. _What the hell?_ Without thinking, her hands untangled themselves, seized the offending ankle, and twisted it. The opponent fell with a grunt, and she was on him in an instant, prepared to connect her knuckles with his testicles. "Concede, and I'll let it go," she smiled broadly.

And the opponent smiled back. "Uncle."

Tatsuki looked up at Madarame, who nodded, unsmiling. "I understand it's sparring and you don't want to hurt anyone, but next time, you don't ask. You take him out, get it?" he told her when the sparring was done. "But you're doing good. Let me buy you a drink or something."

"I doubt that's a good idea," Yumichika said, breezing into the dojo. "A certain _someone_ might see you and get the _wrong idea_, you know."

"She ain't got nobody's name _tattooed_ on her, so I think she's free to decide that for herself," Madarame grunted. "So how 'bout it? I hear you ain't even been to any bars yet. You're missing out, you know." He wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

She promptly plucked it off. "Not interested, sorry. And what did you mean, a _reputation_?"

Madarame took a step back, his face suddenly blank. And then red. "I meant you're a good fighter. We've been told. . ."

"By Kurosaki?" It wasn't too hard for Tatsuki to fill in _that_ blank. Dammit, how long was he going to keep interfering?

"Ah, no, actually it was—"

Madarame was stopped by Yumichika, who was smiling much wider than normal. "Kurosaki-taichou does treasure his friends, but he told us this a long time before you got here. He mentioned while he was still alive the two of you would patrol with Kuchiki and Aba—Sado-kun," he simpered. "That would never have happened if you were terrible." Then he giggled. _Nervously._ "So, why don't you come out with us tonight? We'll show you around and we'll have a beautiful time."

Madarame coughed. "We may even run into some _folks_." He then gave Yumichika a look.

The weirdness was too much for her. "Ah—I've got plans tonight," she said.

Both men froze for a moment, then seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. "Oh well," Yumichika twittered, waving a hand in that dismissive, metrosexual way of his. "Maybe next time."

"Yeah," Madarame agreed.

Tatsuki bowed and made good her escape.

It was exchanges like this that made her feel odd. Like a little kid in the middle of a game of keep-away. Only she didn't know what the hell the ball looked like, wouldn't be able to jump for it if it bounced off her head. They knew something. Something that concerned _her._ And they really, _really_ wanted to tell her.

And she kinda wanted to know, too. Just out of curiosity. So she brought it up to Hisagi-sensei after kidou class a week later. "They're strange," she said. "Like I'm the punchline to some joke or something."

Hisagi gave her a look. "That's an interesting description. You know, they don't spend much time up close with women, besides Kusajishi-fukutaichou, and she's not. . . you know. Maybe they're just trying to figure out how to interact with you."

"I don't think that's the case. They talk about Matsumoto-fukutaichou all the time."

Shuuhei chuckled, a rare thing from him. "That's different. Matsumoto was a monster, and a guy knows when he's come up against one like that. All they can do is canonize her, because they could never beat or _be_ her." He paused. "Maybe you remind them of her a little."

Tatsuki's gaze veered to her chest almost automatically. This brought a full-blown laugh out of Shuuhei. "No, not like that. She was strong. And a fighter. And she stood her ground. Just like you." He blinked. Tatsuki shifted her glance from his face. If he was a little pink, then she must have been crimson. He cleared his throat. "In any case, I think it's a good idea for you to take them up on that offer sometime. You're the only student I know who hasn't been into Rukongai yet, and you're going to need to be familiar with it when you start Local Rotation. Besides, maybe you can get some answers out of the weird guys."

The fact that she looked up to Hisagi Shuuhei in ways that may not have been mere admiration twisted this suggestion into a command. Within a week she was in a bar, wedged between Yumichika and Madarame, staring at a short cup of sake. One of them clapped her on the back. "We don't drink until you do," Yumichika said, propping his chin on his knuckles. "So bottoms up, darling."

Tatsuki raised the cup and stared at it. How long had it been since she'd drank, let alone been drunk? She knew what they wanted. For what reason, she had no idea, but she was certain they wanted her good and inebriated. Maybe it was some sort of initiation. Best to get it over with, right? They'd be more likely to talk to her if she played along. She frowned at the cup, then took the drink down in one gulp, slamming the cup back onto the counter. Both of her companions cheered loudly—then ordered her another sake, which she grimly took in one shot. They cheered again and ordered five more shots: three for Madarame, one for Yumichika, and another for her. She looked at them quizzically. They seemed pretty relaxed. Happy, even. She toasted with them and finished her third drink.

Two drinks later, she felt herself swaying a little, but was determined to keep up with Yumichika, at least, who was finishing his seventh shot. She'd lost count on how many Madarame'd had. He was babbling something about how he had bankai and was willing to unleash it anytime, anywhere and so bleeping what? Yumichika was giggling. The room was beginning to spin, and there was a yellow shirt coming right at her. And grabbing her by the collar. "What's a little academy wuss doing in here?" Something close to her bellowed. Just as she wrenched herself free and landed unceremoniously on her ass, the bald one surged forward and without a word, punched the speaker in the face. Tatsuki climbed back onto her stool and turned herself around to watch, but it was not enough time to catch the swing that was thrown and missed at the suddenly shirtless third seat. However, she did have a prime view for the second punch he threw, which landed the yellow shirt on the floor, nose spurting. "Okay, assholes," Madarame squealed with glee, "let's get it _on!_"

As another two or three bar patrons launched themselves at Madarame, Tatsuki started to slide out of her seat. She needed to help him. Wasn't that what they wanted? But Yumichika, slowly turning in his seat, pulled at her sleeve. "'Not now, honey. He's having a good time and I'd hate to see you get into the middle of it. Just sit back and watch."

Which she gladly would have done, seeing as she could no longer feel her hands. But as the fight expanded, a shotglass hit the wall and exploded into a billion pieces, one of which nicked Yumichika on the chin. Before Tatsuki could ask him if he was okay he had flung himself into the brawl, screeching things she knew she could never repeat.

Oh God, she thought. Sooner or later this was going to swallow her whole. She'd only been dead six months and now she was about to get murdered. She slowly slid off her barstool and was halfway to the door before someone grabbed her by the back of her shirt, spun her, and was about to do serious damage to her eye when a gloved hand blocked the swing. There was a grunt, and the body blocking her way collapsed upwards. Or maybe she just fell down, dizzy. Brown eyes loomed in front of her. Four of them, topped by black zigzags pretending to be eyebrows. "Hakumei. What are you doing here?"

She blinked up at them. "Ikkaku wanted a drink, sir."

Hands gently hauled her up, pushed her out. The sudden intake of fresh air made her even dizzier, but strong hands clasped either side of her waist, holding her up. "Don't call me that. How many have you had?"

"Huh?"

"Drinks. How many cups?" He was turning around, she found herself being positioned on his back. "You're stinking drunk."

"I know that," she said half-irritably. There was flaming red hair in her face, caressing both of her cheeks.

He was moving, and his pace was quick and steady. "I can't believe you let them take you out to a bar on your first outing to Rukongai. Come on, Hakumei, you know them. All they come out to do is fight."

"I was curious," she murmured. His back was warm. His hair smelled nice. And his neck was pale and soft.

He twitched a little. "Couldn't you have asked them at the eleventh?"

"I thought about it, but Hisagi-sensei said I should come out with them and get to know Rukongai."

His back tensed, just a little bit. "Hakumei, I understand that you admire Hisagi and all that, but have you ever considered he might be wrong sometimes? He hasn't spent time with them like he used to. Maybe he's forgotten how bad they are since we lost Matsumoto."

She was silent.

Renji sighed. "Don't be mad at me. I know you don't care for me much, Arisawa, but I—I worry about you sometimes. You're lucky I was passing by. I knew Ikkaku and Yumi were in there, but when I sensed you in there, my nerves just went crazy. You could have been really hurt, you know? And I'd hate to see that happen." His heart was pounding now, not just because he was running. Did she hear him? Did she know what it meant? Is that why she was quiet?

And then he heard the snore.

The hands that were only lightly gripping his shoulders went a little limp. He slowed down, smiling to himself. This brought back memories. He'd only carried her once on his back before, and she was awake and excited then. But this. . . her warm breath on his neck, her comfortable weight on his back. . .this was nice.

He didn't dare take her back to the dormitory. The training grounds beneath where sokyoku once stood had been equipped with a livable bedroom since the war. There was as good a place as any. It was a good thing he didn't have anything to do the next morning. No way in hell was he just going to leave her there. As he laid her gently down on the futon, a tiny sigh escaped her lips. Complete with the unladylike reek of booze. He ignored her breath, smiling at her. She was still the same, right down to the mole just under the right side of her jaw. Her eyelids fluttered. "Hey there," she smirked.

"Hey yourself," he beamed back at her.

"You have gorgeous hair, you know. And a pretty nice body."

He opened his mouth to reply when the eyelids stopped fluttering. Now she was truly out. Still kneeling, he nuzzled the pillow next to her hair. This was nice. What had he been afraid of all this time? The tattoo was tingling again. He knew it was a losing battle, anyway. So why not give in? _Okay,_ he thought. _Tomorrow. Before she freaks out and pushes me away again. I'll tell her everything._


	5. Baby Birds and Boomerangs

The world was supposed to spin around them, the consummating kiss epic. They were to be a tangle of limbs and lips, caught up in a typhoon of passion. Her eyes would burn and his would pierce; he would shroud her in his flaming hair.

Close, but no cigar.

He didn't know when it was in the night that he climbed onto the futon, nestled his head into the curve of her neck and shoulders, and let sleep take him. He wasn't even sure if his hands had snaked their way beneath her head and over her stomach before or after he nodded off. All he knew was that he awoke, stiff, with a hungover and extraordinarily pissy Hakumei pinned under him. Her voice was even, but in the past this only meant she was out of patience. "Get. . ._off_," she gritted, and seeing as her knee was perilously close to rendering him impotent permanently, he hastily rolled off the futon and onto the cold stone floor. Hakumei sat up, then fell back with a groan.

This was it. The situation was crappy, sure, but he could work this out. Abarai Renji was famous for his ability to get out of a scrape. He was acutely aware of the cold floor beneath his folded legs, intense in contrast with the warmth bubbling under the skin of his wrist. "Hakumei," he said softly, "I'm sorry."

She grimaced, then scowled, rubbing her temple with her wrist. "What the hell are you apologizing for?"

"If you're thinking I did anything. . . improper. . ."

"Oh please. You'd never and we both know it. You don't need to feel guilty. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm sorry to have put you in a bad situation, and I appreciate you taking care of me, okay?" She was still squinting and the headache she had was so powerful he was having sympathy pains.

Renji blinked as his heart began to bounce around in his chest. She wasn't mad at him. This was a definite plus. "There's been something I wanted to say to you, though," he said. "I kinda don't know where to start, you might not like this—"

"Wait, wait. Is this really important? I have to get back and check in or Yumichika'll skin me," Hakumei said, finally gazing up at him blearily.

"It's really important." He edged close. "I've thought about this a lot."

The irritation slowly melted from her expression, giving way to a clear curiosity. "And you need to tell me about it?"

His face was grim because he needed it to be. Smiling would only have freaked her out, and that was the last thing he needed. "It's about you."

"Oh." Now she was confused, but still curious. She crouched, almost, arms wrapped around her wiry legs and her chin resting on her knees. "Go ahead."

He scooted even closer, so the corner of the futon wedged just under his knees. He was conscious of the light graze of her toes. "Hakumei—Arisawa. . . we've known each other for a long time."

"Yeah," she agreed, tilting her head.

"What if I told you I know you a lot better than you know me?"

She took a breath, smiled a little. "I knew that already. Shinigami watch over the dead _and _the living, right?"

He gulped, staring at his wrist. Maybe that wasn't the best way to start. "Yeah, but no, that's not what I mean. A lot of the time when I was in Karakura, I watched over you." The tattoo was burning now. He looked her in the eye.

She was no longer smiling.

"It's not what you think," he said.

"Then what was it?"

"I loved you."

"That sounds a hell of a lot like what I'm thinking."

"I wasn't stalking you or anything. I was just checking up on you."

"Checking up on me." Her eyes were narrowing.

"Yeah!" His arms began flailing a little. Even his exhausted body had picked up on the fact that he was drowning. "Lots of unsafe things out there for a human girl with a little power but no ability to fight, you know?"

"_No ability to fight_."

"Yes! No! I mean, you could fight, but not hollows."

"Renji, outside of the war you all talk about, I don't remember being attacked by a hollow since the one Inoue killed." She shook her head. "And you _loved_ me? Where was I during all this?"

"You were right there, the whole time. I didn't want you to remember."

"Remember? Remember what? Something other than watching my friends get stronger and wander away from me? And you? You were damn near a mess because you didn't get what it was you wanted—" She blinked, the near-anger melting away as if some epiphany had materialized in her head. She covered her mouth with her hand.

The words were in his head before he fully understood what was happening. Something Inoue had said to him ages ago about the woman who faced him now. He didn't get a chance to say her name, to stop her before she not only jumped to a conclusion but pretty much did a jig on it.

"I'm so sorry, Abarai. I never made the connection before. It was Rukia, wasn't it. The one who broke your heart." And it flowed like a crystal mountain stream, if such things could be polluted with voluntary delusion. Even if bits of it were true. "You had to be in Karakura with her, and it hurt. So you tried to focus on something else, right?" When did she put her hands on his wrist, so close to the one thing that would stop her? It didn't matter to him. Her hands on him were precious. All he could do was nod at her.

And she smiled at him, a smile he'd seen before he loved her. The smile that set him in that direction. It was never pity, not from her. She understood him better than anyone else, even though she didn't know him anymore. "I'm sorry. That was an asshole move, wasn't it. All that time, and I didn't even know. You've always looked out for me. I know it's crappy and probably too late—but thanks."

The baby bird reflex had struck again.

It was still pretty early when they came out of the training ground. Renji walked her back to the eleventh, where Yumichika stood at the gate looking fresher and lovelier than ever. But as they came closer, he crossed his arms and made the scariest face Renji'd ever seen on him. Ikkaku was going to get an earful when he finally got up. But Renji didn't care. Arisawa—Hakumei wasn't mad. She didn't eye him like he was about to molest her. They were friends again. And the tattoo barely felt like it was there anymore. It was really over, his years of longing. His heart collapsed in on itself like a house of cards.

He was so happy he wanted a drink.

* * *

Long before she willingly stepped into Orihime's boob-tastic shadow, Tatsuki was aware she would never be "that girl." The one whose presence diverted and attracted male attention. The one who would find confessions—signed, unsigned, sometimes badly spelled—in her locker after school. Once she understood and accepted her fate, it was easier to live it out. She would be herself, without pretense or artifice, she would not devote a drop of her time to impressing or securing a member of the opposite sex for her very own.

Not that she never attracted any or secured one for her very own, eventually.

But memories of Mokoto were fading. Her life—her un-life—was trundling along at a speed she hardly anticipated. She had been blooded, so to speak, after another outing with the denizens of the eleventh. She was careful not to drink again, and one good hit made it known that she was not something to be trifled with. Madarame was so proud he drank _for_ her. She moved onto and through her other rotations in what seemed like weeks, and before she knew it she was firmly ensconced in the eleventh as a fourteenth seat. It wasn't her first choice. But the ninth was out of the question for the obvious reasons. She was quite comfortable with the seventh; she admired Komamura-taichou's calm but fierce demeanor. But it seemed that the eleventh squad had fungal qualities. They grew on you. Komamura-taichou was disappointed, but he understood. Iba had come from the same place. Perhaps she might reconsider in a few years, he told her even as he congratulated her on her graduation and assignment.

Now, however, she had different problems than before. Ichigo sought her company to complete his retinue as often as he could. She had done her best to evade him by citing their disparate ranks. But after months of put-offs bad excuses, Ichigo was fed up and dead set on having his way. He guffawed, clapped her back and gently but forcefully pulled her along. She gave up then, letting herself settle into what was apparently her predestined place as part of his posse. Nevermind the fact that he was now a captain, married, and widely respected. It was just like being back in high school, in a way (oh, the horror!).

But in ways it was not the same. Shortly after she began joining them on their weekly bar brawls, Hisagi-sempai (taichou) began making appearances as well. Part of her was relieved, though she never admitted it. He was calm and most often the only sober one. When she began to let herself fade into the wallpaper, he would pull her out with warm conversation and warmer welcome. He seldom smiled, but when he did it clawed at her head. He was achingly beautiful, was Hisagi Shuuhei, and of all people, he seemed to single her out. Of course she was flattered. And worried. And a little unnerved when Abarai-fukutaichou began to question her about it. He was the only one who seemed to notice, and even though it was rare that he ever pushed hard, he was always probing, like a surgeon looking for a tumor. What killed her about it was that it was just as sweet as it was irritating.

One night, he plopped himself beside her where she sat at the bar with the others. The Matsumoto toast was only half-over (they were on shot seven out of fifteen) and Abarai had clearly gotten a head start. He scratched at his right wrist absently. "Is he here tonight?"

Tatsuki blinked at him. "Who?"

"Hisagi." Abarai's eyes narrowed. "There have been rumors, you know, Hakumei."

Tatsuki's eyes narrowed in return. "Rumors."

"Have you been screwing him?"

The glass was empty, so she could not throw her drink at him. She settled for smacking him, an action which caused him to yelp and a half-dozen pairs of eyes to focus on the commotion. For a blood-curling moment, all was silent. And then Ikkaku raised his drink. "Hey fuckers, Hakumei has been possessed by the Matsumoto!" The room exploded into laughter and cheers that faded gradually until the rest went back to their drinks. Abarai rubbed his red cheek, smiling a little. Creep.

"I'm not going to answer that, Abarai-_fukutaichou_." She did not feel the need to add that it was none of his business, and. . . not yet.

The lulling feeling Shuuhei caused in the pit of her stomach was familiar and welcome. She could relax around him and he seemed to enjoy her company. He was a professional where propriety dictated, but lately it seemed that he would forget his rank when he was alone with her; every time they met outside of work and the academy, it seemed he wanted to touch her in one way or another. The one time he had come too close, he watched her unleash her kidou and yet again fail to hold her stance. He was behind her in an instant to break her fall. She had gasped a little, embarrassed and slightly aroused by his sudden proximity. She hazarded to gaze up at him, to thank him as was proper. He gazed down at her, eyes cloudy but calm. His head bent lower, slightly, his temptation so palpable she could taste it. But then he blinked, as if he suddenly remembered who he was—and who _she_ was. He smile, almost sheepishly, and set her on her feet, telling her to try again. Which she did, and succeeded. His congratulations was heartfelt and calm. She thought him damn near perfect. It was never hunger that radiated from Shuuhei. It was a mix of kindness and shy affection. All she could do was drink it up. No one—even the man she had married—ever put her at ease the way he did. And if she were right—and she prayed she was—he would continue to do so and then some. But none of this was Abarai's business. Period. Even as he sat here nodding, concerned in the way a sempai and a higher ranking officer would be, but utterly tactless about it. It was maddening how endearing he could be, and how she wondered what he was really like under all that gorgeous hair.

Tatsuki shook herself here. As much as she liked Shuuhei, her mind always seemed to wander back to Renji. Like a goddamn boomerang. His confession had endeared him to her—more than she cared to admit. All she could do was hope Abarai never noticed.

As of yet, he seemed clueless. But hard liquor would do that to anyone. She wondered how he managed to function on the days after his binges, even though she had been told by Madarame that they were a lot more tame than they used to be. She also wondered why exactly she cared. She shook her head. She disliked thinking in circles. "Abarai-fukutaichou, haven't you had enough?"

"It used to be more than that," he said, rubbing his forehead. "I've been here a couple of hours. Used to be I'd've puked and passed out by now."

She didn't know whether to be horrified or impressed. But as it was, he was getting up. "I like that you're worried, Hakumei. Makes me feel good." Before she could really gape at him, he hit the floor. The noise ground to a halt. From the back of the bar where he was talking to Keigo, Ichigo shot her a look. "Tatsuki, will you get that moron up and take him home?"

Tatsuki scowled. "Can't someone get Richiki to do that?"

Ikkaku guffawed from the other end of the bar. "Richiki's a good kid, but Abarai's a touchy drunk. No guy here will do it, and you're the only girl who'll fight him off. Just don't hurt him too bad when he tries to feel you up." Then he and Ichigo nodded at each other, grinning like monkeys.

Tatsuki groaned. Lying sacks of shit. The bar was crawling with females and most of them outranked her. The more experience the female officers had, the more immune they seemed to be to the sad legend of the Renji Wrecker. But saying no would probably not work here. No one else was ready to leave, and to just let Abarai lay on his face struck her as cruel. Sighing, she knelt and pulled his arm over her shoulder. "Wake up and walk with me, Abarai, or I swear I'll kick your ass, wasted or not." Abarai was just awake enough to comply, head lolling against her shoulder as they made their slow way back to the sixth. She was actually kind of grateful. He was going to pass out as soon as she got him home, and then she could head back to her own quarters early. Extra sleep was always good. . .

"Stop," Abarai said suddenly.

"What?"

"We're close enough. I'll make it back okay."

"All due respect, fukutaichou, but you're full of shit. You look out for me, I look out for you, remember?" She tugged at his gloved hand. "C'mon."

For once, he was obstinate. "No, really. I'm cool."

She tugged, and the glove came off. She sighed, tried to hand it back to him. He pushed her hand away. "Nevermind it."

Tatsuki shook her head and pulled at his wrist. "Don't be a baby. I didn't mean to—" She stopped.

"Go on and look." His eyes were tired. "I tried to tell you." He turned his wrist up, held it out.

She looked at the fading sepia scrawl. Looked at him.

"When?" Her thumb just grazed the surface, almost tracing the lines of her name.

"The day I left you behind." Their eyes met. It was the most unromantic thing ever. And why the hell was she thinking it should be romantic? "You remember, don't you?"

The world was supposed to spin around them, the consummating kiss epic. They were to be a tangle of limbs and lips, caught up in a typhoon of passion. Her eyes would burn and his would pierce; he would shroud her in his flaming hair.

Instead, she punched him and walked away.

* * *

**A/N:** Finally! Pardon me while my head explodes. 


	6. PMS and Near Miss

While many things about Kusajishi Yachiru had changed over the years—she was now a sweet-faced, rosy haired girl with lightly freckled skin and a nose that turned up in an almost elegant, dainty way—one thing was iron clad and permanent. The little wench was in the middle of _everything_.

When the only other female in the eleventh division did not turn up for morning rotation, the good vice-captain sensed there was something afoot and went to investigate.

Hakumei was not sleeping. Hakumei was not hung over. Hakumei was not even sick. This last saddened Yachiru considerably; her hope was to be exposed to menstruation for the first time. The last time she had inquired about it, Hakumei had given her a sour look and said something a good deal more crude than Yachiru was used to hearing from even the bald one. This served two functions in the annals of the history of the eleventh division: First, it intensified a curiosity that before then had been fleeting. Second, it set Hakumei at the top of Yachiru's list of females to observe and emulate. She was now kicking her underlings in the balls with impunity and particularly enjoyed using binding kidou to assist her in her misdeeds. Zaraki-taichou, whose continued nonchalance masked a growing horror, was forced to turn to Unohana-taichou for guidance. Her response was to threaten him with old classroom "My Body, My Self" videos and then to chuckle at him maliciously. She'd clearly been waiting for this.

In any case, on that particular morning, Hakumei was awake, dressed, and sitting cross-legged in the hazy morning light pouring in from her window. She opened one eye, gave Yachiru a nod, and asked her to sit. "My old sensei taught me this. It's good to clear your head in the morning. Maybe you can learn to sit still for more than five minutes," she said.

Yachiru sat close, crossing her legs and resting her hands in her lap, an exact copy of Hakumei's pose. "Why do you have to clear your head? Does it hurt?"

"A little. I've been thinking."

"Why?"

"I think something stinks here."

Yachiru sniffed her armpits. If anything stank, that was the first place Yumichika checked on himself.

Hakumei chuckled a little. "Not like that, fukutaichou. I mean that there's been some screwing around going on."

Yachiru's eyes widened. "But Hisagi-chan hasn't been here lately."

Hakumei groaned. "Do you get all of your information from Madarame?"

"Not all of it. But whenever he says your name and Hisagi-chan's name together he always mentions screwing." Yachiru frowned. "Is that a bad thing?"

"It probably wouldn't be, if it ever happened," Hakumei snorted. "But there's two different kinds of screwing, fukutaichou. The one Madarame talks about is the kind you need to have Zaraki-taichou explain to you. The second is where people do things behind someone else's back. I'm talking about the second kind."

"Someone's been doing something behind your back?"

"It looks that way."

Yachiru tilted her head. "Firehead?"

Hakumei gave her a look, and her face was indescribable. "What's Abarai got to do with anything?"

"Madarame said he's pathetic and he needed to just kill you." Yachiru crouched on all fours. "Yumichika said he got laid and they both laughed at him." Her face went serious. "I'll kick him in the balls if he tries to kill you, Tats-chan. But why would he do that?"

"When did you hear this?"

"Hmmmm... it was a while ago. Yumi-chan said it wasn't for little girls and made me leave, but then we listened at the door."

"Was this before I got here?"

Yachiru was examining her hakama. "Oh yeah. A long time ago. Cue-ball said to push you in front of a bus or something." A pause. "What's a bus?"

Hakumei shook her head. "Nevermind it, fukutaichou. Let's go down and make some guys roll around."

Yachiru leapt to her feet. She was bored already, anyway. On the way out, she paused and turned. "Are you sure you're not on your period?"

"I'm not," Hakumei said, pushing her out the door, "but that doesn't mean I can't _act_ like it."

Adolescence had its upside. With the advent of the dreaded time of the month that Yachiru was so curious about, Tatsuki learned she could pretty much lay the onus of any crime she cared to commit at the feet of female problems. Not that she was inclined to do so all the time; she understood that overuse of such a trick would only render it ineffective. So, she only pulled it out as a last resort. Twice, actually. Both times, incidentally, she had done harm to Kurosaki. He was usually the easiest target, anyway, with that ridiculous hair. The first time they were both thirteen and he'd accidentally knocked Inoue down in the hallway. It was an accident, and Inoue had been quick to defend him, but Tatsuki was halfway into a bad morning and wanted to hit something anyway. The second time, she put him through a window. Asano and Kojima were quick to cover her for her by assigning her rage to PMS. Tatsuki was too irate then to deny it.

The fury she felt at the moment her knuckles connected with Abarai's jaw made that incident fade in comparison. But that emotion faded, and rather quickly. Two nights of sleeping on the event had given her enough clarity to understand why.

Hakumei realized she'd been had. Multiple times. And not just by Abarai. The whole lot of them knew, from Kurosaki to Yumichika's feathered eyelashes, that a chunk of her life had been deleted from memory. And instead of telling her, they'd toyed with her. Abarai with the hovering, Yumi and Ikkaku with the nudging and giggling, even Rukia with her controlled and anxious silence. Abarai—Renji—loved her. For whatever reason, he had done his best to smother his own heart. And the others, apparently too bored to leave it alone, had a vested interest in keeping his wound open. All of them were waiting, trying to wait, or outright attempting to force something to happen. Poor Abarai, hounded, drunk, and weary, had simply given up.

Once she had digested this information, it was all too easy to see Renji as the injured party. Perhaps it was the remnants of maternal instinct. To see him in pain was awful and to know every time she flexed her fingers that she'd left an intentional mark on him made her feel guilty. But was that guilt because of what he'd done for her—to her?

The memories had all come back in a jumble. As they sorted themselves out, the most prominent ones involved sparring—not too shocking. But then there was the kissing. And the other thing.

The other thing was something she knew without hesitation that she wanted to do again. And again. Hell, by the time she reached the eleventh that night, she was boiling with it. Desire. If it hadn't been so completely mixed with shock and indignation, she might very well have flown right back to him, dragged him somewhere, and molested him. The thought amused her after all the fantasizing about Hisagi, but the scenery behind it made her sick to her stomach. Renji was now the one person who occupied her thoughts. And in most impure ways.

She had never lusted after her husband in that manner. She thought she did. _Thought_ she did.

Had Renji been as selfish as she was at the time he left, wanted to keep himself in her heart, left her to her own devices. . .

She would never have looked twice at Hakumei Mokoto. Would never had married him, never given birth to those three she considered more precious than her own life. And she knew, without even having to ask Abarai Renji, that he was all too aware of this. Because he knew her. Because he loved her. How she was able to brush off his original confession, looking back on it now, was beyond her.

Regardless, he had remained silent. Again, for her sake. To not see her hurt or confused over it.

But this was, of course, his worst mistake. She had not lived for ninety plus years without learning to reason things out. It took her all of an hour and a half to analyze the situation, and day after that to come to terms with her evaluation. She was not entirely certain, of course. But she was enough like that abominable redhead not to care.

Thus, she was obliged to put on her best "female irritation" face as she marched behind Yachiru into the eleventh squad dojo. Madarame took one look at her, visibly shuddered, and told her to go back to her room. Yachiru's eyes went wide in amazement and worship. The rest of the sparring men dared not comment. "I'll see you tonight, fukutaichou," Tatsuki told the girl before marching right back out.

Yachiru, the preternaturally sharp child, did not follow her.

Hisagi-taichou, glad to be pulled from his paperwork for even a moment, listened as he walked with her. He had been smiling a little before, but now that was long gone. Apparently he was the only person in the whole of Sereitei who was completely unaware of the true story of the Renji Wrecker. How this was even possible, considering how close he was to Madarame and Yumichika, was unfathomable but beside the point. She told him everything she knew in exact detail. Including the inevitable outcome. He rubbed the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Hakumei, did you come here to say goodbye to me?"

"Better you hate me for being honest than you despise me for lying," she said. "I'd never forgive myself if I misled you. You did call me an adult once, remember?" She tilted her head. "Are you saying we can't be friends anymore?"

"Dumbass. I'd never say that, but we probably shouldn't talk for a while."

She stopped, he stopped with her. "I'm sorry, Shuu."

All the dignity of a reasonable man who had just been blindsided, he sighed. Laid a gentle hand on her neck. "Are you sure, Hakumei-san?"

Her look was grim and determined. "It's Arisawa," she said. Hakumei had no place here anymore.

He nodded at her. "Good luck, Tatsuki." She thanked him before speeding off to hunt down the redhead.

Which took longer than anticipated. He was not in his office, nor was he anywhere in the sixth squad compound. She dared not go back to the eleventh to plumb the wonder twins for information—that would only give them too much satisfaction. The fifth, inhabited by Kurosaki and his little cult of worshipers, was also an unappealing option. That left only the thirteenth. Tatsuki arrived unannounced, breathless, and a little scared.

Rukia's face was guilty again. Before Tatsuki could even ask, she shook her head. "He's gone, Hakumei. Since yesterday. He didn't tell me where."

Tatsuki huffed in exasperation. "When is he coming back?"

Rukia took in a breath. "He wouldn't tell me. I asked Nii-sama, and he wouldn't tell me either." Her voice oozed with guilt. Tatsuki was not feeling charitable enough to comfort her.

"Will he at least send some kind of message later?"

Rukia didn't know this either. And it was clearly torture for her, who, after all, was the indirect cause of the whole mess. But nobody deserved this kind of misery, any more than Abarai did when he willingly accepted it. So this was how he was going to act? He'd suffered long enough, now he wanted the whole world to suffer with him? While completely logical, this weird backlash was completely out of character for him. And it elicited the only possible response Tatsuki had left. "That _asshole_," she whispered.

At Urahara's, Renji sneezed.


	7. All She Wants

As late as it was, the false sky above him was a cheerful blue. It seemed to be Urahara's way, smoke, mirrors, deception and denial. The only real thing here was his battered body and the raincloud that hovered above it. Why was everything so intense down here? Renji'd had his share of life-or-death experiences here, and all of them were mere training. He knew by then they may have been fatal if Urahara had bothered to involve himself in them. Renji was never deep enough to ponder the shopkeeper's reasons or motives. No more than he was surprised to find himself at the old man's door when his captain kicked him out.

Perhaps "kicking him out" was too harsh a description. One day of more moping than had been witnessed in him for forty years and Kuchiki-taichou was sending him on a mission. "Urahara-dono will meet you," the man said dismissively, and that was the end of a three minute conversation which might have lasted less than two. Kuchiki knew that look. And the burning smell? Forget about it. Renji lacked the energy to contest, to say the decision was too hasty and he was fine. He merely bowed and left; the short step from Sereitei to Karakura instantaneous as it never was. And Urahara was there, Tessai a few feet behind him with huge arms crossed, the kids staring in curiosity. "I set a little place up for you downstairs," Urahara chirped from behind his fan. "I'll lock the door behind you so you can have a little peace."

"So I'm being imprisoned?"

"I prefer the term _detained_." The grin was wider than ever. "My orders were quite specific. _You broke it, now fix it._ Do you suppose he's afraid Hakumei might punch him too? That _is_ quite a shiner." That was a small fraction of the reasoning. Yes, Hakumei had quite a left hook. And while Kuchiki-taichou could no doubt dodge it, he most likely felt there was no point in putting himself into a position where Hakumei would try to hit him. She was now, after all, the unofficial muse of the eleventh division. If _she_ didn't get him, the rest would at least attempt it in order to please her. The only reason Renji had not already been beaten into next Tuesday was that as a former comrade, they allowed him a freebie. She did get him pretty good, after all.

Renji absently raised a finger to his swollen eye. It hadn't looked that bad to him. It was a clear sign that Hakumei was getting stronger. He wanted to keep it a while.

"You already have a souvenir," Urahara huffed. "That one will fade, so deal with it."

"You're not taking the tattoo?"

"You wouldn't allow it if I was even interested enough to do it. Now go on downstairs and have a good conversation with yourself. I'll come for you once your Captain decides he's ready to deal with you again."

Renji obediently followed him down the ladder and into the cavernous training ground. Before Urahara could make his escape, he grabbed his sleeve. "But why is it still burning?"

Urahara snorted. "Don't you know?"

Renji looked at him blankly and shook his head.

"Think about it, Abarai. Letting you work it out for yourself is my favor to you." And then he was gone. That shopkeeper could play it close to the chest when he wanted to (which was all the damn time). Renji sighed. What was, was. It was almost fitting, Renji thought. This was Urahara's vengeance for screwing up his good deed. Some favor.

He spent the night (day) gazing up at the false sky, reveling in his lethargy. Of course Hakumei was pissed. Of course she wanted nothing to do with him now. While it wasn't the first time Hisagi got the girl, it was the first time he got the girl that mattered. But Hakumei had chose the better man, right? From the moment she met Hisagi-sempai, she gravitated towards him. And after that, there was no possible way, after all his dithering, Hakumei would look at Renji now.

"Who would, ya pissant? You might as well put on some makeup and hope Yumichika likes redheads, cause your ass is done with females." The Snake always agreed with him when he was down on himself. The Baboon King, on the other hand, merely stood, silent. The whole love thing was incomprehensible to him. As a whole, Zabimaru didn't make fit company to even commiserate with. He was alone. Completely, and forever.

Which is why the hell butterfly that landed on his nose after a few hours startled him. The message was a private one, but adamant. _If I've found you, she can't be that far behind. Don't waste your chance. If she comes back in my direction, I won't let her pass me by._

It had to be a trick. Renji sat up, squinting at the ceiling. The crack through which the hell butterfly had flitted allowed it back up and out, then slid shut. Damned old man. He was a complete diehard, to interfere this thoroughly. Renji flopped onto his back and stretched, the irritation burning a path down his spine. If it was so easy for him to let go, why was everyone else having such a hard time? It was ridiculous. He peeled off his shirt and rolled onto his stomach. All he could do was wait for the next tactic Urahara had planned.

But it was not Urahara who woke him. Nor was it Tessai or either of the small fry. Someone was tracing the lines of the tattoos on his back, someone who was too heavy to be either of the kids and too light to be the shopkeeper or his assistant. And the soft but stiff fabric of a hakama was almost grinding into the small of his back. And then there was the jangling in his nerves that radiated from that branded wrist. He groaned. "Hakumei, get off."

There was a grunt. The weight did not move.

"Dammit, Hakumei if I have to do this the hard way I'll smack the shit out of you."

A hand landed heavily on his left butt cheek and pinched.

"Ow! Hakumei!"

"Say my name," came the response through gritted teeth.

"Hakumei," he groaned.

The hand worked its way between his suddenly immobile legs and edged dangerously close to his balls. "_Say my name_."

Renji swallowed. He wondered if she could feel his heart hammering, as close to the ground as it was. "Arisawa."

The hand between his legs did not move. Another hand grazed his shoulder. "Say it again."

He closed his eyes, felt the dry dust on his cheek. "Tatsuki." But did this mean. . .

She was no longer squatting on his back. He barely had enough time to pull himself up on his knees when she was in his face, eyes dark and full of something he could not decipher. Her hand came to his cheek and he flinched in anticipation. It stopped just millimeters short of a smack. "There's no point in sparring with you again," she said flatly.

"How's that?" His hands balled themselves at his knees. He had barely processed the fact that she was _here,_ and now she was rejecting him?

"I'm not good enough. Not yet. You're too polite to kick my ass honestly." Her eyes flickered from his face to his chest and back. "And I want to beat you, Abarai. Just to prove a point."

He took a breath. He knew she would ask, eventually. So he'd prepared an answer. He just never thought he'd use it. "I didn't leave you because I didn't think you were strong enough. That's not the reason I left."

That's when she smacked him. "Stop it. I know what you were thinking about, you ass. You didn't choose. You left me before I could get a chance to leave you. You never believed in me. You never thought _you_ were strong enough to keep me. Not even when it was all out there. But you were wrong. _I'm_ the one you're supposed to be with. The fact that you've hurt all this time and just kept going—don't you get it? It wasn't about whether you were good enough or strong enough to be with Rukia. I'm not Rukia. You could never have her because you were meant for _me_. You're the one I choose. You're mine." Her kiss was sudden, rough, and over before he could lend himself to it. But she wanted it this way. She was panting, just a little, when she laid out her terms. "That's twice you've run out on me. Do it again I'll beat you senseless, even if I have to get Yachiru to do it for me."

He gaped at her. Hakumei. Arisawa. Whatever she was.

_No fucking way._

He launched at her, slamming her hard on the dusty soil. "You're gonna have to do better than that, Urahara! I know Tatsuki and _this ain't her!_"

The form below him, mod soul or whatever it was stuffed into a gigai, went still. He stared down at her. The brown eyes narrowed and sparked. "Number one. _Sai!_"

His arms twisted behind him just as her knee connected with his groin. He squeaked and fell over with a thud. "Arisawa," he gasped.

She rolled him over and sat on him again. "I take it back. I really want to kick your ass now."

The spell was weak and fading. He pulled his arms from under him and lay spread-eagle. "So you do. But tell me this. If I'm yours, that's great. But where's the safety for me? Don't you like Hisagi-sempai?"

She tilted head, then raised her own right wrist. In the exact spot where on him her name was etched, his name gleamed on her skin in red. "Compliments of the meddling old bastard upstairs. I know every stray piece of sex you've gotten for the last seventy years, are you happy?"

"And that's supposed to comfort me how?"

"I know how you felt. Just the thought of you with anyone else makes me want to destroy something. And I know how you deal with rejection. I could never in a million years think of being with anyone else." Her eyes were serious. "Get it?"

He blinked. She was here, and she had him. It was completely real. _Holy shit._ His arms reached on their own and gently grasped her waist. "Arisawa." The smile played at his lips.

Her smile tilted upwards. "Yeah. You know, I kinda wanna—you know—with you." Her eyes sparkled.

He had pulled himself upright as he closed the distance between them, nestling his head on her shoulder. "Jeez, romantic much?" he chuckled, his embrace tightening.

Her arms snaked around his neck. "Don't need it," she giggled into his hair. "I already got what I want."

* * *

**A/N:** Short chapter? Kinda. Epilogue? Definitely. 


	8. Good Things

It was like déjà vu, really. Many, many years ago, when Renji stopped hanging around for the first time, Rukia slipped into an inexplicable snit. If inexplicable were tantamount to unspeakable. Ichigo didn't dare bring it up. He didn't _dare_.

By the time the information on his whereabouts had filtered down to the intended places, Abarai was no longer sneaking around with the intrepid Arisawa (contrary to the impression he gave off with his shifty red blush). No, they were hot and heavy, as evidenced by Asano's holy-shit-I-passed-my-midterm! party, where they were caught in the bathroom playing spin-the-bottle. The irony was that they were alone and there was not a bottle in sight. When they were betrayed to Rukia, she merely rolled her eyes and made one comment: "It's not a matter of when one of them is going to choke on the other's tongue. The question is _whose_ tongue?" Her tone was sharp, almost wounded. Ichigo, who had become a master of making himself silent or scarce whenever the topic of Renji clawed its way into her mind, decided that here was where he would stand his ground.

"This is ridiculous. I can't believe you're not happy for him."

"I can't believe you are. Don't you get it? They're carrying on like this is it. It can't be, you know. They can't stay like this forever," she huffed. They were headed home and the bite of winter was on the edge of the autumn wind. He shivered, almost convulsively.

"Why not?" He wanted to know.

"Don't make me spell it out."

"You owe me that. And Renji too, if you care so much. Is it really that bad?"

"He can't just come back and forth like that. He's a vice captain, you know."

"So are you. What's the difference?"

"Arisawa is human."

"So am—oh," he murmured. The difference that might as well have been the Grand Canyon for their childhood friends. Uncrossable and unfathomable. This was the cumulation of their bittersweet time together. They had fought many battles and won a war. But time never lost to anything. It pressed on and change followed. Rukia's snit melted into apprehension and spread to Ichigo. They waited for what seemed like weeks. And then the shift came and went. Renji stopped coming altogether and Arisawa faded away. When Tatsuki took another man's name, they told themselves that while it was for the best, it still sucked. They liked Hakumeis plenty. They were a fun couple until they left town. But they were never as close as before. Not Ichigo and Tatsuki, who'd been the first to make him cry when they were five, nor Rukia and Renji, who had been her dogged shadow for longer than she could recall. And like that, the others began to fall away as well. It was as if the removal of one piece—Renji—made the whole puzzle collapse. The Ishidas were too busy raising a family. Asano started selling real estate someplace else. Mizuiro began working with his mother, which kept him either busy or too far away to socialize with. Chad—despite the suddenly clear chain linking him to the irascible but devoted Karin—stayed close but kept his distance, as if he knew and was trying to make his own absence easier to deal with when the time came.

But now, one by one, their friends were coming home. This was wonderful to Ichigo, whose nostalgic nature compelled him to welcome the familiar with open arms. But the arrival of Hakumei posed a problem for Rukia. The day after Hakumei—Arisawa—barged into her office and demanded to know where the redhead went, Rukia told her what she knew and watched her leave determined to claim what was hers.

_Hers. _

Meaning, no longer Rukia's. The same problem she'd had and was able to solve with logic the night they were caught playing tonsil hockey in Keigo's bathroom presented itself again. With interest.

Ichigo planted himself on the floor with his arms crossed. "Okay, so _now_ what's wrong?"

"Nii-sama did this," she fumed.

"No, Nii-sama made it happen faster than it would have. I'd think you'd be tired of the moping, too," Ichigo pointed out. "He can move on now and finally be happy." He paused, measured his words. "You can't have us both, you know."

She tilted her head with a frown. She'd never own up to that one, even if she had the words to express it. "They're going to beat the stuffing out of each other."

"Well let's hope they have sex first. They'll be too tired to do too much damage."

"Ha," she snorted before kicking him out of her office.

* * *

Abarai Renji and Arisawa Tatsuki did not reappear for two days. When they came back, they were a spectacle, but only because Arisawa, who no longer answered to Hakumei, was allowing herself to be led back into Sereitei. Renji stalked forward with a slight smirk, which would have been a grin if Arisawa did not drag her feet once and a while to remind him just who was on the end of his hand. They went first to the Sixth division office, where they bowed in tandem before Kuchiki-taichou and apologized for their behavior. Tatsuki lifted her head just a little and winked.

Byakuya winked back. But when his second raised his head, he had snapped back into himself. Byakuya's humor was reserved only for women, except maybe Rukia. Other men didn't need to know. He understood, when accosted by the the Dragon Bitch, that she would not accept excuses or outright lies. But something did not sit right with him, not yet. "What will you do when you find him? If I were to tell you, what would you do with that information?"

Tatsuki had taken a breath. "I'll settle it."

"Settle it how?"

Her jaw set in an exasperated frown.

"You owe him something," the captain said. "You know that now, don't you."

The woman remained stiff and silent.

"I will not satisfy you until you satisfy me."

"What is it you want?" Her arms crossed.

"Assurance that my fukutaichou will be returned to me in one piece, and at peace. Do no seek him unless you intend to satisfy your debt to him."

Tatsuki huffed. "How does a choice he made for me constitute a debt?"

"A love gift," Byakuya replied, "should be answered in kind or relinquished."

"I can't give his years back to him."

"So you admit you do not care for him?"

"What are you? A lawyer?" _So. They are evenly matched,_ the Captain thought to himself. _He hot-headed and rash, she hot-headed and cool. Both stubborn as mules, but passionate to a fault._

Byakuya let the smile slide onto his lips then. He had her, and he knew it. "No. I am merely the one who stole the words you inspired in a man who otherwise had none. I know all his secrets and as his Captain his care is my responsibility. I will not see him injured any further."

"What do you mean, stole his words?"

"Excruciatingly bad haiku, all dedicated to you. He could not use it at the time, so I did."

"Did it help you any?"

"That is another story. But I will not be moved. Do you love that man?"

A pause. "I do, Kuchiki-taichou. More than you'd ever expect."

"That is not enough."

Her jaw seemed to drop, just a little. He could not imagine she thought it would be this easy. If she did, that was only proof that she was designed for Abarai, but that was beside the point. "What is it you want?" She asked finally.

"More than words. It's been the better part of a century. You've lived another life, one where he never crossed your mind. You say all it took to revive the feelings you had when you were barely more than a child was to regain the memory you had of the time you knew him, the time when you were barely old enough to know yourself, let alone another soul? A shinigami lives for centuries, sometimes millennia. You say the feeling you had then—the feeling you have now—can outlast that?"

"You say that like my feelings were shallow."

"I say your feelings _are_ shallow."

Her fist clenched at her side. He could feel it. He insulted her; she wanted to strike him down. It took a moment for her to beat down the rage, but the hurt settled in his stomach like lead. Byakuya pushed on. It had to be dealt with. "I did not say they were not genuine. Only that they are a child's passion. Such things fade."

"I let that man hit me. More than once. And he let me hit him. He trusted me to watch him, and I trusted him to watch me. He made me feel—safe. And capable. He made me better than I was, whether I knew it then or not. Nobody knows better than I do what he did for me. But I don't love him for what he did for me. I love him for the way he looks at the world. He's never stinted, not for me, not for Rukia, not for you. He's always given and even when he felt he deserved something, he never once tried to take what should have been his. He's earned so many things he never really received. No rewards, nothing. But he never stopped. You could make his day with a black cherry slushie, he's that simple. He is rare and he his precious. He's more pure than anyone I've ever known, and I know Ishida Orihime." She was not crying; Arisawa Tatsuki was not a weeper. But her clenched fists were shaking, as if she had never said this aloud, even to herself. "Loving a man like that isn't about passion. Sure there's lust. He's got quite a body. But a heart like that—I'd be an idiot to pass it up, however it turns out. I'll be with him any way he wants me to be. And if he doesn't, I'll walk away and watch over him like he watched over me. It may be the only time someone gives him what he deserves, even if he won't take it. It doesn't matter to me. I don't care about what you think I need to prove to anybody. All I know is I won't leave him. Ever." She lifted her head, looked Byakuya square in the eye. "So why don't you get off my back?"

Tatsuki was literally floored by Kuchiki-taichou's full blown smile. Before that day, only two others had ever seen it. As constrained as Kuchiki was, any little show of mirth came with uncontrolled reiatsu. She nearly fainted at his amused relief. After he'd gotten his smiling done with and the placid expression came back, he bade her to rise and gave her what she came for.

She left understanding that he wasn't the hardass Renji had described to her all that time ago. He was a hardass, yes, but he had a sense of humor that was truly shocking. When she bowed next to Renji, her wink to him was a signal that his secret was safe with her. When he winked back, she knew she was being entrusted with something that was precious to him. A truly faithful and devoted redhead. All she could do was be thankful.

* * *

Renji, on the other hand, had a harder time gaining the approval of his old comrades at the eleventh when Arisawa announced that she had decided on a beau.

It wasn't that they were jealous. It wasn't even that they still nursed a grudge against him for leaving to join the sixth. The men were no problem.

Yachiru was a little disgusted. Any path she skipped down, they would stomp after her. "Shuu-chan," she declared, "is sad because of you."

"It's complicated, fukutaichou," Renji told her in the gentle tone that usually worked when dealing with her. "Sometimes people aren't meant for each other, no matter how right they seem together." The child seemed to accept this, after additional coaxing from Yumichika.

"Besides," Tatsuki said, smiling, "Hisagi-semapi is strong. He'll be fine."

Not convinced, Yachiru proceeded to observe the ninth division captain with concern. The day she came back with a report of strange activity, Tatsuki listened patiently in her room.

". . .and then he said, 'Isane!' and she said 'Shuuhei!' and there were slurping noises," Yachiru finished, eyes wide in amazement. "Did he make her have her period?"

"I'll tell you when you're older," Tatsuki said.

A few months after successfully burying the apparent Kotetsu-Hisagi hookup, Tatsuki showed Renji her shikai.

It was nowhere near as perverted a question as it sounded to her when he asked to see it. Sure, he asked while they were in the middle of doing the _other_ thing they did as much as sparring, but. . .

The scythe glinted green in the sunlight and the staff that held it up seemed covered in scales. Dragon scales, he told her jokingly, unaware of how close he was to the truth. They were hard and smooth and any hit she deflected with the staff left no evidence. Not a mark, not a scratch. Zabimaru could push her back, but it could not break the sword. Renji would chuff and try again. Tatsuki would dodge—she was close to mastering shun-po, which was surprised her more than it did him—and swing with all the force she could manage. There was a golden ring on this merry-go-round. When she could call her zanpaktou by its name, she would see Renji's bankai. That, however, was turning out to be a terrible wait.

She was shy about it, and a little ashamed. Her zanpaktou had no name she could understand. It had not told her much of anything. She called it Wind Razor, which was as close to interpreting its language as she had ever come. It appeared when she needed it, which was strange seeing as everyone else had a name to call theirs. When she focused on it, she could hear a faint, shrill cry unlike any she had heard before. She knew it would be a long road, maybe centuries before she got to Renji's level. But she also knew better than to expect him to wait for her. It was a good thing. Neither of them were interested in settling.

After sparring, they always made love. She giggled when he called it that. "What should we call it, then?" he demanded finally, smacking at her tattooed hand which was wandering a little too low on his torso for his comfort.

"I dunno. It just sounds cheesy. Like something Ishida would call it." She rolled over languorously, gazing, sated, at the false blue sky above them. "Neither of us are that gentle, you know."

"You're such an animal." His eyes affixed themselves to her slender ankles. "Arisawa."

"Abarai." The smirk in her voice made him chuckle. "If it ever turns into 'making love', I'll have to marry you or something."

His heart skipped a beat. "I'm not good enough to marry?"

Turning again, she laughed into his ear. "I was someone _else's_ wife. What I want to be to you, what you deserve, is bigger and better than that, moron."

He stretched, smiling. This was what he wanted. He wasn't waiting for anything. Not anymore. "You say good things," he murmured as he finally fell asleep.

* * *

**AN:** Hard as hell to write, and it doesn't even seem like an ending, does it? I know. There's a whale wandering the background of my mind. Anyone willing to beta-read for me? Seriously. 


End file.
